the picture of a gray boy
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: Cause sometimes all a man really needs to become great is a great woman to step beside him. Even if she abuses the slutty librarian look.


**Title: the picture of the gray boy**

**Rating: T**  
**Spoilers: G**eneral

**Characters**: Theodore Nott

**Summary: **Cause sometimes all a man really needs to become great is a great woman to step beside him. Even if she abuses the slutty librarian look.

**Disclaimer: **disclaimed

**Author: **_Lady Avaritia_

Theodore Nott was a surprisingly unremarkable boy. He had hair which was neither hony blonde, nor chocolate brown, and eyes that were, at the best of times, the color of coffee stains on old newspapers. His skin was pale, but not in the aristocratic Malfoy way; rather in the way that most sickly children are always pale because they hardly get enough light.

He was not an exceptionally beautiful boy. He had none of Draco's aristocratic sharpness, his startling icy eyes, his soft platinum hair, and his chiseled face, neither did he posses the agile and sleekly muscled body of a trained Quidditch player. He was not tall dark and mysteriously seductive like Blaise had grown to be, with his chocolate hair, and burning charcoal eyes, and the muscled strong body of a good Beater that made girls from all houses and years hang around the changing room of the team.

Speaking of, Theo was not a Quidditch player. He couldn't fly on a broom at all, and while the other boys weren't nasty about it, he always felt a tad bit left out whenever someone proposed they play Quidditch.

He wasn't as rich as them too. Draco was the sole heir of a ridiculous fortune, while Blaise was the only son a Black Widow extraordinaire. Yes, he'd been wealthy all his life, but never as wealthy as a Malfoy, or even a Zabini. He'd been warned, not once, by his father, that eventually, such things would make him fall behind his friends, who had bigger opportunities. Regardless of how much they were his friends (and he was sometimes seriously doubting that) they were Slytherin too, and they would move on without a second thought or a look back if he couldn't keep up.

Theo had never pretended to be smarter than either of them. Sure, he was more responsible and more studious, and he made a better strategist, but that hardly meant anything once term grades were sent about. Draco was a better potions brewer, a better duelist, and a lot better at remembering unimportant details. Blaise… Blaise was a better cheater, and his charming smile melted teachers right in their spot, which didn't mean he wasn't clever in his own way. His absolute lack of ambition was his only hindrance on the way to the top.

When they were branded with the Mark, Theo was still not their equal. Draco had received his Mark a whole year before either him of Blaise, but Blaise had already been initiated at that time. Draco's family seemed to like Blaise better as well, what with him being such a charmer and all. Draco and Blaise were dark by nature. They had given into the temptation of the arts long before joining the Dark Lord's ranks. They were unafraid. Theo was frightened.

He couldn't pull off the intimidating act of a careless playboy, while still flashing his dark side as a dangerous warning. He was neither intimidating, nor was he a playboy. And his dark side seemed to have deserted him long ago in search for a better counterpart. He couldn't pull Draco's cold aristocratic drawl and merciless killer-act. You needed a certain kind of upbringing for that, a certain kind of treatment from the parents that would convince you that you are the best and you deserve to do such things. It was another thing Theo lacked.

And after the war, when they came back to Eighth Year, he realized that he also lacked the bravery his two friends had had to choose the right side, even if it was in the very last moment.

The Nott family had been devastated, ruined both in money and reputation. The House of Zabini, which was located in Italy hardly suffered scathes. The House of Malfoy, if not honorable and light, could always lean on the fortunes which supported it, and on its reputation of a dark wizards breeding den.

So yes, Theodore had nothing on his two best friends- he wasn't handsome, he wasn't smarter, he wasn't rich, and he hadn't ever risen above mediocre.

But in one thing, in one thing, he had them both beat. Pansy Parkinson had chosen him over either one of them. She could've had Malfoy, all marble and gold and silver, with his handsome face and aristocratic drawl and calculating smirk, or Zabini, with his slight accent, all chocolate and coffee and Italian heat, and a voice like hot molten chocolate gliding down sandpaper. But no. She had chosen him, the boy with the stain eyes, and messy hair, who never seemed to do anything right, and she had rubbed it off in their faces that she thought he was better. And yeah, the war had ruined her too. But maybe, just maybe, with help, slowly, he'd be able to believe her when she told him

'You're the best, Theo.'

Cause sometimes all a man really needs to become great is a great woman to step beside him. Even if she abuses the slutty librarian look.


End file.
